These games we play
by LikeIdTellU
Summary: When a horrible accident renders little Makalaure mute, he is barely able to cope with the aftermath. Feanor discovers there is more to life and Maitimo learns there is more to his brother then he knew. -discontinued-
1. Prologue

**Title: These games we play**

**Summery: When a horrible accident renders little Makalaure mute, he is barely able to cope with the aftermath. Feanor discovers there is more to life and Maitimo learns there is more to his brother then he knew.**

**Prologue**

"Unbelievable, the child's a nuisance!"

"Surely he couldn't be that bad, Maitimo?" asked the pretty elleth as she leaned against Maitimo's broad chest. She idly twirled a lock of her lovers copper hair and hid a grin; the thought of tiny Makalaure causing havoc was almost unthinkable and entirely laughable.

Almost

"He is. Do you know what he did to me this morning?" Maitimo fairly whined, crossing his arms over his chest and shoving Lokte [Blossom] off his lap, the irate Feanorion could feel the amusement radiating from her.

Lokte pouted. "No I do not", she said before trying once more to placate him. "It can't have been that bad".

Maitimo gave up any semblance of calmness. "He tied each strand of my hair to the bed post while I was asleep! Amme had to cut it out!"

Lokte had thought Maitimo's hair was shorter, but she hadn't thought to comment in case she had been wrong. Now she was glad that she had refrained from mentioning the sheared locks.

"You look very handsome", Lokte offered tentatively, hoping her lover saw the olive branch she was offering.

He didn't, and instead completely exploded. "I look awful!" he yelled, "I think Amme used _shears!"_

A muffled giggle cut through Maitimo's tirade and the elf shot up from his seat, scanning the gardens for the source of the sound. Lokte wished the elfling would run and hide until Maitimo had calmed down; she was quite fond of Makalaure, the only son of Feanor to think smithing dull.

Despite himself Maitimo felt the beginnings of a smile tug the corners of his mouth. Despite finding his brother an annoying parasite, Maitimo was quite fond of his baby brother, and very protective of the child.

"Oh little songbird", Maitimo called in a falsetto voice, "Come out, come out wherever you are".

Another giggle, one that Maitimo tracked to the canopy above him. With a wicked grin he sprang into the tree, pulling himself towards his brother's form…only to gasp in surprise as he was doused with icy water. He caught sight of the twelve year old elfling's windswept, tangled dark hair and black eyes before he lost his hold on the branch. Maitimo barely managed to halt his fall by gripping onto the branch below, but by the time he regained his balance Makalaure was already out of the tree and half way across the green.

Maitimo barely halted to sketch a bow that courtesy demanded to Lokte, ignoring how she giggled at his bedraggled appearance, before he was chasing after his brother.

Despite the child's head start Maitimo had the advantage of long legs and was swiftly gaining on his small brother. By the way Makalaure swerved sharply, he knew it to. But no matter what the elfling did, Maitimo eventually drew close enough to wrap an arm around the child's waist and swing him up into the air.

Makalaure screeched happily as he was twirled around and settled on his brother's hip.

Maitimo could not help it, his anger rapidly vanishing at the sight of his brother's delighted countenance.

"What am I to do with you Makalaure?" he sighed when his brother buried his small face in the crook of his neck.

"Love me and play with me", came the predictable, if slightly muffled, answer.

Maitimo pressed a kiss to the downy hair. "Always", he breathed.

A moment or two passed blissfully in the sunshine as Maitimo revelled at holding his brother's fragile body, a moment that would be brought up and recalled with a bitter sweet nostalgia in the turmoil that would come, but they knew nothing of that, and so the moment passed.

"Come bratling", Maitimo said and set down his brother, holding his hand out to Makalaure who obediently slipped his small one inside. "Let us see if lunch is ready".

**TBC**

**Please review**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter one: The accident.**

"-and then Amme said to Atar that he must get out of his forge and spend time with his family more often or she will have to do something drastic. I wonder what Atar's punishment would be? Maybe he will have to sit through council meetings with Arafinwe or attend Indis at a feast-"

Maitimo shut out his brother's babbling and instead focused his attention on the picnic spread before him. His hand hovered between a delicate tart frosted with blue sugar crystals and a savoury pie. He chose the tart, taking an appreciative bite from the delicate morsel and savouring the sudden burst of flavours.

_Not bad, not bad at all, _He thought.

The afternoon was truly glorious, too bright and warm to be spent indoors and so the two brothers had packed a basket with anything edible they could get their hands on and headed for the small orchard surrounding their home. Anything to get away from the storm brewing between their Atar and Amme.

"Maitimo?" Makalaure asked, leaning forward on his elbows to study his suddenly distant looking brother.

"Hmn?" came the sleepy answer.

"Should we warn Atar that he must get home at dinner or else Amme will do something drastic?" the child asked.

Maitimo straightened up, finally paying attention to the elfling's words. Had things gone so sour between Nerdanal and Feanor that Makalaure had begun to notice? Maitimo feared that it had and, as he gazed at the frown gracing his brother's tiny face, he decided to break Feanor's most important rule to ease little Makalaure's suspicions.

But doubts still plagued him, worming their way through his resolve and collapsing it from the inside out. Maitimo winced inwardly as he imagined Feanor's livid reaction to their interrupting his work would be. Not even Makalaure would be spared. But as his brother's frown deepened so to did Maitimo's resolve to do _something_ about it. They would just not go into the forge.

"On our way home we shall walk pat the forge, little song bird, and see if Atar is still at work. But it shall be I and not you who goes to tell Feanor that his wife commands his presence at dinner", said Maitimo.

Immediately Makalaure broke into a smile, launching his small body at his brother and hugging the elder elf with all his might.

"Thankyou Maitimo, thankyou! You shall not regret it!"

Maitimo laughed, his heart lightning as he untangled himself from Makalaure and resumed eating his lunch. With one more glance at his brother, Makalaure settled down to do the same.

XXX

_Something was not right; the feeling jangled in the night air like a discord in the ever present song. In Tirion, wary adults kept their heads down as they ushered quiet children home. The night saw the ports and boat houses of Aqualonde still and silent, houses shuttered as though the residents expected a storm._

_In the house of Feanor, Nerdanal shivered and drew her shawl tightly around her person. The very essence of her bones screamed at her to make haste…to avert the great doom about to befall her family._

_And in his forge, Feanor worked on the great sword he intended for his Atar Finwe, oblivious to all else as he heated the metal in the great furnace._

XXX

Makalaure giggled as they drew closer to his Atar's forge, imagining his Atar's surprise when he realised they had come to bring him home. He would probably swoop me up into a bear hug, thought Makalaure, and abandon all his work to come and play with me…and eat dinner. Makalaure didn't like it when his Atar and Amme fought, it scared him and the thought made him grip his brother's hand even tighter.

"Maitimo", he said, "Are we nearly there?"

"Scared of the dark, little songbird?" Maitimo asked, making Makalaure scowl. Privately he thought his brother thought himself an adult, which was silly since he was not, and that was why Maitimo treated him like a baby. And he was not a baby! He was just a little bit on the small side.

Makalaure's bleak thoughts soon dissipated as he picked up the faintest thread of song at the brink of his consciousness. That sounded lovely, he thought. Too young to know that what he heard was but a thread of the great song of the Anuir and that no elf save he could hear it. Makalaure would have hummed it had he not spotted his Atar's forge.

His promise to Maitimo was instantly forgotten and the child released his brother's hand, racing for the forge. He vaguely heard Maitimo's startled shouts for him to come back, but he easily ignored them, too focused on his destination.

The child's heart lit up with joy as he saw his Atar facing the furnace, his dark hair bound back in a tight braid.

"Atar!" he yelled.

Feanor gasped and spun around in shock. Makalaure laughed in glee, delighted at the reaction he had elicited from his Atar. So happy was Makalaure that he didn't notice the blur of red metal in his Atar's hands, sharpened from the hours he had spent honing it.

Maitmo did as he bolted through the door.

Nerdanal did as she followed close to her eldest son.

But the point remains that Makalaure did not. The only thing he was aware of was his Atar's shocked face, and then the hot lash of pain that ripped at his cheek and rendered him unconscious.

"NO!" both Maitimo and Nerdanal screamed as they witnessed the small body tumble silently to the floor and the growing pool of blood forming around his mouth.

Feanor dropped to his knees, abandoning the sword to the ground with a clatter. Nerdanal all but pushed him away as she frantically gathered her youngest towards her breast while Maitimo frantically checked for a pulse.

There was one, faint, but there was a pulse.

And then Feanor sobbed in horror, reaching out a shaking hand to his son and drawing all eyes to Makalaure's cheek. A gaping half burnt and half bleeding hole where Makalaure's cheek should have been greeted the horrified family, and the child's mouth was visible for inspection. Even the tongue had been rent and burned, not spared from the sword stroke.

Nerdanal wailed and clutched at her son while both Maitimo and Feanor frantically tore their tunics to ribbons in an effort to bind the child's wound.

One thing was certain to all; their little songbird had sung his last song.

"We must get him to the house", whispered Nerdanal hoarsely. "Feanor you must send word to the King and beg the aid of his most skilled healers, I shall not except that Makalaure is muted. Maitimo run up to the house and prepare Makalaure's room, now go…both of you".

When both ellon [male elves] hesitated, loath to leave the child, Nerdanal snapped with more force. "Now", she said.

And they left.

TBC


End file.
